“You're the manager?” I start as the guy gives me a weird look, eyeing my outfit like he's not from Humboldt County and hasn't seen this shit before. “You're the one trying to force Brooke into doing lap dances?”
“Zayden,” Brooke snaps at me, her brown eyes narrowed, but her breath still coming in panting flutters that mimic the movement of her muscles as she caressed and held my cock tight inside of her. I look at her for a minute and then turn back to the manager. “Don't,” Brooke warns, but I can't help it. I'm so … riled up right now.
“Brooke doesn't need this shitty fucking job or your bad fucking attitude.” I take a step forward, but notice the bouncer waiting in the hall behind the small man. Shit. That guy's a little, um, huge? Anyway, I don't plan on actually touching the manager. Punching the asshole dad at the mall was bad enough; I'm just lucky he didn't sustain any permanent injuries or I'd have the cops looking for me.
“I see,” the man says as he looks over at Brooke. “Is that the case? Are you done here? After I gave you a second chance?”
“I—” Brooke starts, but I'm reaching down and taking her wrist, pulling her into the hallway only to find the bouncer dude blocking us in.
“Uh,” I reach up and scratch at the purple stars on the side of my head. “Can you, like, move maybe?”
“Brooke,” the man asks as he peers around me. “Do you want to leave with this man?”
“I, uh,” she start and then nods her head in a decisive motion. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
The bouncer gives her a long, studying look before he steps aside.
“If you leave right now, you're done here. You're fired,” the manager says from behind us. I pause there and turn to look down at Brooke, my hands shaking with emotion. I stuff them in my pockets to still them. She stares back up at me for a long moment, searching my face for something. I guess whatever she's looking for, she sees, turning back to look at the manager of the Top Hat Gentlemen's Club with pursed lips.
“Okay. I understand,” she says and then turns back to take my hand, dragging me down the hallway this time.
I have to go outside and come around the back to wait for her outside the dressing room, pacing in a tight line, raking my fingers through my hair as emotions war inside my chest.
I just took Brooke's job away. Because I'm a selfish dick.
“Ahhhh.” I drag my hands down my face and drop them at my sides. What if she … she might take this the wrong way or something. And it'll be all my fault. Why did I go charging in there like a bull in a china shop, messing up everything like I always do? “This is … this is not good.”
I kick a pebble with my purple Docs and suck in a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with the motion.
“I'm ready,” Brooke says as I turn around to face her. For a second there she's limned in gold light from inside the building, her silhouette a sexy, curvy shadow against the brightness. When the heavy metal door slams shut, and my eyes start to adjust to the darkness, I get a glimpse of her face. There's a quiet hopefulness there, a gentle smile, a smothering sense of relief. “We can take the van together, and you can drop me off here in the morning to get my car.”
“Maybe we should just drive separately?” I say and then hate myself for it. “I've got to get over to the duplex in the morning and clean stuff up for Rob and Mercedes.” I shrug my shoulders, but it's a seriously lame excuse. Like spending an extra twenty minutes to get over here in the morning would affect my schedule.
I want you.
That's what I should be saying.
Move to Vegas with me.
Too selfish. Brooke just changed schools midyear, and I want her to do it again? Provided there's any school around Las Vegas that actually has a biostatistics program. Heh. Doubtful.
“Are you … upset with me?” Brooke asks, moving over to stand next to me in her half-shirt and her black mini. “Because … you just stormed into my job, fucked me in the back room, and then told my manager to eat shit.”
“It needed to be said. What kind of seedy motherfucker tries to force girls into giving lap dances?”
“I … you … don't you want to be with me?” Brooke asks, blinking long lashes. Even in her thick makeup, she looks fresh-faced and adorable and way too young for me. I shove my hands through my hair. “Isn't that why you came here tonight?”
“Brooke,” I start, and I sound anguished when I say her name. The worst part about it all is that I know I'm the source of my own suffering. I fucking know that and yet I'm panicking here, acting exactly like my buddies back at the shop, the ones I make fun of all the time. “I've been trying to tell you that I like you, but that we can't work out. I've said it before. Why would it be different tonight?”